Free Sweet Water by Christina Baker Kline

turned back toward the house, motioning for me to follow. She made her way to the front door slowly, with her head down, like a cat stepping through clover.
    The little entrance hall was bright and sunny and smelled of lemon polish. A brass coatrack next to the door and a small table displaying a vase of daisies were the only furniture. Over the table hung an elaborate gilt mirror.
    “Where should I put my bags, Grandmother?”
    “You might as well call me Clyde,” she said, closing the door behind us. “Everybody else does. Come on in here.”
    I set the bags in the front hall and followed her into the kitchen. It was spacious and modern. Everything gleamed. The linoleum was spotless; shiny plastic fruit sat in a bowl on the polished pine table. Large silk ferns in copper planters hung in the windows over the sink and counters, facing the street. On the refrigerator, magnets shaped like daisies pinioned coupons, photos, the corner of the letter I had sent detailing my plans.
    “What a nice sunny room,” I said. I sounded as falsely cheerful as a hospital volunteer.
    “It is. Used to be my favorite place.”
    “Oh?”
    She didn’t elaborate. I stood there, awkward, like the new kid in school.
    “You must be thirsty,” she said after what seemed like hours.
    “Well, I—”
    She opened the refrigerator and took out a bottle of soda. Diet Coke. She took a glass from the cupboard. “All you young people drink this stuff. Alice is addicted to it.” She opened the bottle and poured, then handed me the glass. “I can’t stand it, myself.”
    “Thank you. Now, Alice is Elaine’s daughter?”
    She nodded. “She’s about your age. How about some pound cake? I made one fresh this morning.”
    “Oh, gosh, no thank you,” I said. “My stomach feels a little funny from the ride.” For some reason I didn’t understand, I found myself unable to talk like a normal adult.
    All of a sudden a cuckoo clock in the next room exploded into noise. Both of us jumped.
    Clyde peered at her watch, as if for confirmation. “Four o’clock,” she said. “You’ve been on the road. You must be tired.”
    “A little,” I admitted.
    “Well, come on, I’ll show you where you’re staying.” She led me through the darkened living room, which looked as if it had never been used, like a furniture showroom. The carpet showed vacuum cleaner tracks striped in alternating directions, like a freshly mown lawn. “I’ve got to do some errands. Everybody’s coming over to dinner tonight about seven to meet you.” She glanced back at me. “You might want to put on a dress.”
    I retrieved my bags from the foyer and followed her down a wide hallway. “Is there anything I can do to help?” I asked, tripping behind her into the guest room.
    “Oh, no. I’ve got that pound cake and some green beans, and Elaine’s bringing just about everything else.”
    “Thank you.” I paused. “I—I wasn’t expecting a party.”
    “They all want to meet you. They’re curious.” She turned to leave, then hesitated, standing in the doorway. “We all are.”
    “I guess I am too,” I said.
    She looked down, studying the doorknob, and then looked up at me, into my blank face. “What I can’t figure out is why in the world you’d even want that old house.”
    Her directness caught me off guard. “Why I’d want it?”
    “It’s beyond me,” she said. “Why you’d come down here all by yourself to live in a place where you don’t know a soul, in a house that’s falling apart, in a town that nobody I ever met chose to live in just because they felt like it—it doesn’t make any sense.” She stood very still, with her head cocked to the side. “What’d you think you were going to find down here?”
    Any possible answers had flown out of my head. I wanted to creep away and escape through the window. “I’m not really sure.”
    “Well.” She started out the door. “I just wondered.”
    “Wait—don’t leave,” I said, touching